Waiting
by Little Miss Piano
Summary: Eowyn's thoughts while she waits under Helm's Deep for the battle to end. Movie-based.


Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me. Feedback: Yes, please! Summary: Eowyn's thoughts while she was waiting under the battle at Helm's Deep. Movie based.  
  
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The steady drumming of thousands of booted feet echoed around us, resonant and booming, impossibly loud. I had to constantly reassure myself it was just feet, not some new devilry constructed by Saruman especially for the defeat of Rohan, my home.  
  
The noise pulsed through my head, hurting my ears and weary head. It was almost in time to the thudding of my heart - it sounded loud in my ears, and I hoped that nobody else could hear.  
  
I didn't want them to know how desperately, paralysingly afraid I was.  
  
I tried to rationalise it. I told myself that I couldn't show my fear, that these poor women and children needed me to be strong for them. That, as the Lady of Rohan, it wouldn't be fitting for me to show fear. That the fear wasn't really for myself, it was for those fighting above me.  
  
I don't know why I bothered.  
  
I've never been good at lying to myself.  
  
The truth was, I didn't want them to know I was weak. I wanted them to think I was bold, unafraid, like them men I had always admired. I wanted them to think I was a hero.  
  
I wanted to be a hero. To win renown, and fame. Recognition of my fighting skills. Glory.  
  
But even as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it as hopeless. I could never do any great deeds while trapped as a women. Instead, I was tucked away, to wait for death if the men failed, or to congratulate them if they were victorious.  
  
It wasn't fair. I sound like a child saying that, but it is true. Men are the only ones allowed to accomplish brave deeds. The women must stay at home, to nurse them when they are old and frail, serve them when they are well, pamper them when they are sick, while never receiving the same treatment in return. We cannot even defend ourselves - instead, we must wait while our husbands, sons, and brothers do it for us, all the while feeling helpless and weak.  
  
I do not like feeling helpless and weak. It angers me. When Eomer returns, seeking praise, I may well be slow in giving it to him. I will give it him though. He risks his life for others, to defend his home. The rigid customs of our society are not his fault.  
  
I do not want to think that he might not return. I do not want to think that he has left, abandoned me here, in this prison of invisible bars. That could make me hate him.  
  
The other thought, the thought that he could be.No. I will not even think it. All my life, he has been my defender, my advisor, my friend. My brother.  
  
Above me, the battle has started. Even though I have never seen battle, I have thought of it, many times. Imagined the sights, the sounds, the smells. Dreamed of how I might fight, how I could defend Rohan, the honour I could win.  
  
So even though I have never herd the sounds of battle, I know them when I hear them. And they send a shiver of mingled dread and terror down my spine. Because the King, who used to be as a father to me, is up there.  
  
And because of Aragorn.  
  
I felt ashamed, to feel more worry over a man I barely knew, than over the man who had raised me since I was a small child, but I could not help it. Aragorn was so.so.  
  
I did not know the right words to describe him. All I knew, was that every time he came close, my cheeks flushed and my body tensed, my mouth dried and I could think of nothing to say, and that tension pooled low in my belly, clenching the muscles in my upper thighs and stomach.  
  
And that was just when I looked at him.  
  
I didn't know if this was normal, and not for the first time I regretted my lack of female companions. I was sure that none of the soldiers I normally consorted with felt like that when they looked at Aragorn.  
  
Above me, sounds grow ever louder, impossible to ignore, and I am forced to cover my ears. The ground above shakes, clumps of earth raining down on our heads, and I add a new fear to my steadily growing collection.  
  
Children's cries grow louder and people call my name, clamouring for my attention. They ask what is happen, and I wish I could scream, shout, cry, anything to get rid of the tension inside of me.  
  
An almighty BANG makes everything shudder. The cry goes up: "they've broken through! They've broken through the wall," and all I can do is wait and worry, in an agony of fearful frustration. 


End file.
